Rest my friend

This week I lost another dear friend. One who shared countless hours tethered to a wall with I.V. needles dangling from our arms; one who shared in the confusing exploration of a solution to our inconceivable dilemma; one whose incredible intellect, precision sense of humor, and pure love of life made our endless nightmare a cozy and warm experience.

As the drugs worked their way through our veins, Bill’s jovial being made the hours fly by that much faster. With his stories of racing down snowy peaks; his proud career at Big Blue when IBM was bluer than blue; of tutoring a young girl who would become a life-long friend, soul mate and sweetest and most perfect couple I have ever met.

And though he hated the early appointments, the long drive to the doctor’s office, and the trepidation of the needle, he hid it well and with great composure. He laughed through most of it in his warm and contagious way.

We made fun of our age, me being born when there were only 48 states in the country, and he when the states were called colonies. And this was very telling of who he was as a man; he may have been the smartest person I’ve ever known, but his modesty and demeanor made him likable, accessible and admired by all.

I’ve often thought how horrific my LD situation was, but, I also recognized that the disease enabled me to meet such terrific people like Bill.

I wish I knew him when we were both healthy, but I knew him and I am richer for it.